


Cherry Bomb

by Zatsy



Series: Overwatch Scribbles [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader is an Overwatch recruit, Reader-Insert, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zatsy/pseuds/Zatsy
Summary: When a new explosives specialist joins Overwatch, Junkrat wants to know all about them. Especially why they seem to hate him so much.





	

Junkrat's whole world had turned on its head since you had joined Overwatch. He was so used to being the only explosives expert in the team that when you joined, he was ecstatic to have someone else to talk to about his obsession. Finally, someone who could understand his passion!

The only drawback? You were annoying as all hell.

When you joined, everyone had pretty much expected the same thing—a fresh-faced kid, nervous and eager to prove yourself. You had defied every expectation. 76 had recruited you from a dinky little town in Texas after wreaking havoc with your homemade smoke bombs. You liked causing mayhem, that had immediately piqued Junkrat's interest. Sadly for him, the way you saw mayhem differed drastically. While he was hell-bent on destroying everything that had the misfortune of entering his line of sight, you preferred to lob your cutesy smoke bombs and trap your opponents for others to eliminate. He had fallen victim to so many stun bombs and canisters loaded with sleep-mist that he had stopped trying to keep track of numbers. Not to mention that you always followed up your little sneak attacks with a giggle and a cheeky wink or one-liner as whatever horrendous concoction you had cooked up set in. Worse yet, it felt like you were targeting him and him alone. Plenty of people had fallen to your traps, but he always got the worst of it. You had become a nightmare to deal with, always dodging his grenades and skipping over his traps.

Even more annoying were your dumb outfits. He didn't think anyone had any business going into battle wearing ribbons in their hair, or skirts that could whip up at the smallest breeze. Granted, nobody was going to him for fashion advice, but he still thought that your saccharine schtick was almost as unbearable as D.Va's. And even she didn't go around waltzing around the battlefield practically unarmed.

So why was he completely obsessed with you?

It wasn't a simple rivalry anymore. He had gone beyond trying to figure out your battle strategy and started investigating your personal habits as well, hoping to figure out why it was you despised him so. He had tried to be subtle at first—he had merely started sitting closer to the table you ate at and listened in on what you were talking about with your buddies, Hana and Lucio. When he wasn't making any headway by eavesdropping on your small talk at meals, he started watching you train. Before he realized, it devolved into him following you practically everywhere, save the bathroom and your bedroom. He knew what you liked to eat for breakfast, which bands were on your workout playlists (Christ, you had such a thing for that horrible Japanese idol pop fodder), which outfits were outside your typical wardrobe. But for all the time he had spent to trying to figure you out, he hadn't learned much at all. He often ended up distracted and would stare at you. Any conversations he attempted to initiate were cut off by a hasty excuse to be elsewhere. It frustrated him as all get out because he still wanted to know why you weren't giving him a chance, but you made an effort to avoid him as much as you could. He had talked to Roadhog about it, but his bigger partner hadn't offered much help. After he had suggested that maybe the fact you constantly avoided him was hint enough, he grunted, "Try talkin' to her friends," in an attempt to get him the answers he wanted. 

So that's exactly what he had done. The next time you skipped out on lunch for a match, he swaggered over to the table Hana and Lucio occupied. After a slightly awkward silence, they had exchanged the pleasantries, the hellos and how-are-you-doings. But Junkrat didn't really care to know how Lucio's latest single was coming along, or about Hana beating the high score on her favorite arcade game for the eighth time right now. He had more important things to discuss.

"Awright, 'nough yabberin'. What's goin' on with the sheila? Why's she avoidin' me, exactly?" he asked bluntly. Hana and Lucio exchanged perplexed looks, as if he had asked them something outright insane. "What?" he grunted, mouth full of rare hamburger. His eyes darted quickly between them and watched their confused looks turn to cheeky smiles.

"Dude, you're joking, right?" Lucio asked, trying to hold back his chuckling unsuccessfully.

"What's there to know?" Hana huffed smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. "You follow her everywhere. Shouldn't you already know how she feels, and, like, what the color of her underwear is today?"

"I'm jus' tryin' ta get in her head, 's all. What's she got against me, anyways? Every fuckin' match, she's all bloody over me! She's got it out fer me, an' I feel like I got a right to know why!" Junkrat barked, agitated that they weren't giving him answers. This resulted in more giggles from the opposite side of the table. The two exchanged knowing looks, like they were in on a secret.

"Oh, you're in her head, alright," Hana giggled, confusing Junkrat even more. "She's got it out for you bad," After their giggling kept on for a minute longer, their laughter subsided when they realized that he genuinely didn't understand what they meant. They exchanged another look, glancing hesitantly to the Junker before meeting again. At the end of their nonverbal conversation, Lucio sighed.

"I guess I'll tell you. She doesn't hate you. She likes you. A lot," Lucio explained, trying to spell it out in the simplest way. "She's been trying to impress you since she met you, actually. It's why she always goes after you in matches. She wants to show off her bombs, but she's too shy to actually talk to you in person,"

"Worst flirt ever," Hana snorted. "She's been trying to figure out how to talk to you since, like, forever. You're like her idol. Well, more like her dreamboat. Weird either way you look at it, if you ask me. But every time she tries to say something, she wimps out and hides out in her room. It totally doesn't help that you decided to start creeping on her. She's a total mess,"

It took him a minute or two, but everything began connecting in Junkrat's mind. Now that he thought about it, your face was bright red every time you ran off from him, something he had assumed was from the frustration of him staring at you. You had worn the ribbons with little plastic bombs on them every day since he had mentioned were kind of cool in passing to Roadhog. He hadn't considered that someone would feel affection for him. His experiences with romance were all inherently sexual. People died suddenly often in the Outback, so long-term relationships were a luxury nobody could afford. In the end, it left a person feeling hollow and weak, and the strong ate the weak. But he wasn't in the Outback anymore, and those same laws didn't apply to this situation. It left him confused.

"It wasn't creepin'," he grumbled in a feeble attempt to save face. He was completely lost about what to do next. How was he going to face you in the next match, knowing what he knew now? Forget the battlefield, how was he going to talk to you ever again? His stomach felt weird, and his head was a mess of conflicting ideas on how to approach this new issue. But before he could get too into his own head, Hana and Lucio were laughing again.

"Right, you were just following her every move because you wanted to investigate her 'battle tactics'," Hana teased, playfully pursing her lips. "You're so transparent, it's ridiculous,"

"You look at her like you did when we first showed you fireworks," Lucio added with a reassuring smile. "It's pretty obvious that you like her too. You should go talk to her, get everything cleared up between the two of you,"

Junkrat's ears flushed red as he chewed on his lip. He supposed he did feel something towards you. Even if you were really annoying during matches. Even though he thought that the hearts and flowers you painted on your bombs were totally stupid. Even if the cute ribbons you wore in your hair were impractical for battle. Even though those dumb skirts always made your legs look great. Even if your snarky little smirk was adorable, and your smug eyes looked so pretty in the sun, and that stupid lip gloss you wore made him want to kiss you...

Fuck. He had it bad.

"Gotta go, mates," he grunted as he got up from his seat and made off in a mad dash out of the cafeteria, abandoning what was left of his lunch.

He paced down the hall quickly, making his way to the bunks. All that was certain in his mind was that he had to talk to you now. As he reached the door with your name engraved on it, he knocked and called your name. A minute passed with no response, and it didn't take long for him to get anxious. Was coming here so soon a bad idea? He hadn't even thought about what he was going to say to you. What if he botched it and you never spoke to him again? He wasn't exactly a suave sweet-talker like that cowboy. What if you thought that he was only trying to get in your pants? Well, okay, there was a little bit of truth behind that. But you were really pretty and smart (you had to be if explosives were your specialty), and he would be losing a valuable ally and friend if he messed this up.

"God dammit, I need more time t' think 'bout this—" he grumbled as he spun away from your door. Just as he was about to walk off, the door squeaked open.

"Junkrat?" you asked, surprised to see him of all people standing at your door. He flinched a little bit and turned to face you.

"Uh...g'day," Junkrat greeted, giving you a little wave with his fingers. Though he forced a smile on his face, he cursed up and down inside. Now he had to say something to you.

"...Hi, Junkrat," you returned, sounding more nervous than you would have liked. Here he was, at your door, and you had no way out. Sure, you could slam the door in his face, but that was doubtful to leave a good impression on him. You doubted that you had done that in the first place, anyway. He was always giving you angry stares and following you around. As much as you wanted to impress him and be liked by him, you always fouled it up. You ran away when you could to avoid any more embarrassment. But now you didn't have a Plan B. You could already feel the heat rushing to your face. "What brings you here?" you asked, projecting awkwardness with every move you made.

Junkrat stuffed his hands in his pockets and racked his brain for an excuse to be at your door. "Uh...oh, yeah! I wanted ta check out ya setup. For makin' bombs an' such," he lied quickly. At least it was kind of believable. "'m experimentin' a lil' bit, wanted ta see how the other bomb nut makes 'em fer...uh...inspiration,"

You eyed him curiously, but it seemed like a legitimate reason. It was silly of you to misconstrue the situation, you thought. Just one explosions specialist to another. You stepped aside and gestured for him to come inside.

He was amazed how nice your room looked. His room was an amalgamation of spare parts, scrap metal, gunpowder, and a variety of shiny things he kept around for decoration. Your room, on the other hand, was all fairly organized. Your bed was made, though slightly rumpled, like you had been laying or sitting on it before he had come knocking. A heart shaped rug was in the middle of the room, and the walls were covered in all kinds of posters. Cheap fairy lights were strung up around the room, and the small bookshelf along the far wall held a healthy mixture of plush animals and chemistry books. Your desk was meticulously organized, though bits of scrap metal, wire, and tools were sat close to the chair. Vials of brightly colored chemicals were lined up and labeled accordingly. He was dumbfounded how someone who shared his passion could be so organized. Then again, maybe he shouldn't consider himself a typical case.

He slunk over to your desk to investigate what it was you were working on. The bomb itself wasn't finished yet, but the chemical off to the side was labeled and corked tightly, colored differently from the rest of your usual concoctions. He squinted as he read the label, but he wasn't quite sure what the word was. Eventually he gave up trying to read and inspected the half-finished bomb shell. He fiddled with your tools, still trying to maintain the ruse that he was here for educational purposes. There wasn't much conversation between the two of you. He would ask an occasional question, you would give a curt, matter-of-fact answer. All the while, he was desperately trying to come up with the right words to say. He sighed. If not now, when?

"...Y'know I ain't here ta talk 'bout bombs, right?" he blurted out, abandoning your desk to look at you properly. Your back was leaning against the door, hands tucked in behind you. You looked as uncomfortable as he felt. "Look, 'm sorry if I creeped ya out with all the starin' an' followin'...I ain't exactly good with words," he sighed. "'s just that yer always goin' after me in matches. Thought ya had it out for me, bird,"

"Why would I have it out for you?" you asked, mostly to yourself. You had been enamored with him since you two first met. He was smelly, reckless, and more than a touch crazy...but he was so passionate and full of energy. Everything he did, he did it whole-hearted, without any fear of judgement. As someone who was rarely up-front with her feelings, you admired that in him. But the longer you were around him, you came to realize that admiration wasn't a strong enough word for what you felt. You couldn't get his maniacal laughter out of your head, and his smile made you shiver in the best way. Even the less than desirable aspects of him became endearing—his patches of wild blond hair that defied logic by burning at the tips, the way he looked covered in soot, the fact that he rarely wore a shirt...

"I know it ain't true now," This made your cheeks burn. People talked all the time, but the only people who knew for sure were Hana and Lucio. You had looked to them for advice since you first acknowledged your little crush. Sadly, it mostly ended up with Hana blurting out embarrassing things about you while Junkrat was around and Lucio giving you fashion advice when you knew your paths would cross. You would be having a long talk about loyalty with them later. You opened your mouth to apologize. You didn't expect him to feel the same way about you. The nature of Junkers was to act on primal instincts, and romance wasn't one of those things, unless you counted a quick fuck here and there. Before you could say anything, he added, "An' I'd be lyin' if I said I was only followin' ya 'round ta figure out yer battle strategy," You looked at him in shock. He couldn't be implying what you thought he was. It was too good to be true.

"Y'see I...well...uh..." he fumbled, trying to figure out the right words to use. He grumbled in frustration. Nothing was coming to him. "Aw, fuck it," he growled as he slammed one hand on the wall behind you, leaned forward, and crashed his lips into yours.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but your eyes quickly fluttered shut and you kissed him back. A few weeks ago, you could barely imagine having a full conversation with him, and now you were kissing him. Well, kissing was a loose term for what you two were doing. Junkrat didn't have any technique. His motions were sloppy but eager. He bit at your bottom lip with his oddly sharp teeth, and his tongue pressed against the seam of your lips. You opened up for him happily. He tasted like soot and gunpowder, and there was a little bit too much drool (likely coming from him), but you couldn't bring yourself to care. If this was a dream, you didn't want to wake up. When you finally pulled away, you looked into his fiery amber eyes and smiled, nervous giggles leaving you. He broke into his signature toothy grin, clearly pleased with himself.

"Damn, sheila!" he cackled. "Always did think that glossy shit would taste good," You laughed. Of course he would say something like that.

"Junkrat..."

"Jamie," he cut you off. "Y' can use me real name. 'sides, it'll sound pretty when ya say it,"

"...Jamie," you started again, thinking that the name suited him well. "Does this mean we're...y'know...?" He giggled madly. You were too cute for your own good.

"We're whatever ya wanna be, 's long 's yer mine," He lifted you up and pulled you into a tight hug, nuzzling your hair affectionately, a gesture you returned without hesitation.

"Me lil' cherry bomb~"

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a reheheheally long time, please be gentle


End file.
